


When in Ireland

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. No matter how many times he watches the love of his life board a plane and leave him, it will never become any easier.





	When in Ireland

**Author's Note:**

> I don't...really know how to explain this story. 
> 
> I've been writing a lot of things that deal with very personal topics lately, such as Sugar. This one is no different. I never really like to talk about having OCD, just like I never really talk about being depressed because it never seems like something I should talk about as an author. But sometimes these little pieces slip through the cracks, and in a way it's me--introducing myself. Every time. 
> 
> I don't experience OCD the way that this fic shows it. But I experience some parts of it. That being said, this is based on my own tendencies and does not represent everyone as a whole. I'm not making a statement with this story as to what--what OCD is like for everyone. Just me. Just how I perceive it. 
> 
> There was more to this story, after the final scene, but--but I thought it best to leave it where it was. Maybe I'll come back to it someday.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy.

“Here we are again,” Jack says.

“Here we are again,” Mark agrees. 

Airports have always seen more heartfelt anything, from kisses to tears to goodbyes. There’s little that airports haven’t seen, and little that has been done half-assed by any stretch of the phrase. 

Jack is too calm in the face. He doesn’t fit into Mark’s oversized hoodie, and it hangs limply from his smaller frame like it’s not meant to be his. His backpack is slung over his shoulder, his suitcase already on board the plane towards his great green home, where the skies are grey and devoid of any sunlight. 

Sometimes he fears his hand might fall off as he presents it to him. This is tradition, however. He can’t _not_ shake Jack’s hand before he goes. He would be doing his best friend a disservice if he denied him this solid comfort. 

“I’ll be back,” Jack says, and that’s right. It’s part of their script. He reaches out, and they clasp hands. “Maybe you can come to Ireland next time.”

But the both of them know that isn’t true. Mark will never go to Ireland. Jack will only ever come to LA. It’s the system. It’s the way things are. 

“Of course,” Mark replies. He knows his lines. “You’ll be okay going home?”

“As always,” Jack gives him a tight smile. “Pop some sleep meds. I’ll be back home in good ol’ Athlone before you even blink.”

The voice over the intercom buzzes to life, a feminine tone singing that it’s time to board. Jack lets out a slow breath. 

“You’ll Skype me when you’re home?” Mark asks. “So I know you got back safe?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “As always.”

Their hands still touch. Jack tugs him gently, and Mark is surprised when his best friend pulls him into a gentle hug. This isn’t part of their exchange when Jack leaves. 

He hugs him back, because there’s nothing else to do. There’s nothing else he should do, and hugging Jack is a warm, comforting thing. But it’s not right. This is freaking him out. 

Then, without looking back, Jack turns and heads away. 

No matter how many times he watches the love of his life board a plane and leave him, it will never become any easier. 

~~

Things always return to normal three days after Jack leaves him. It will be three days of silence save for a single IM from Jack on Skype, announcing his arrival home. 

Mark will wander his house aimlessly, soaking in the still reminiscent afterglow of his visit, and miss him every second until he comes back again.

He and Jack have been friends for so long now, it’s weird to be without him.

They had met when Jack’s family moved to Ohio, where Mark had originally been from, in their younger years. After graduating from college, Jack had moved back to his hometown and Mark had flown to LA, but they’d kept in contact ever since. 

Without a doubt, he’s been in love with Jack for the past five years. He’s dated on and off from boys and girls, and all of them were wonderful and sweet, but no one had quite been like Jack. He’d watched Jack come and go with girlfriends and boyfriends too. 

It isn’t like he thinks Jack isn’t attracted to him. There have been many sloppy kisses and experimental tugs with each other late at night, early in the morning, withering looks and lingering touches. But it’s almost the unspoken rule that it never goes beyond that. It never goes towards something that is...intimate. Romantic.

So Jack comes to stay with him every couple of months. They sleep apart, keep a respectable distance, and then, late at night, they throw inhibitions out the window and pretend not to remember in the morning.

It’s the script. When in LA, it is always the rule.

Mark hates it, but he’s never been one to break the rules. 

~~

“You should come visit,” Jack says on Skype. 

“I should,” Mark replies, because that’s the script. The affirmation portion of it. “Whenever you’ll have me.”

“Maybe within the next couple of months,” Jack hums. “It’ll be fun.”

Mark answers with a noncommittal grunt, because there’s no reason for him to answer at this point.

“Maybe October 14th?” Jack asks, and Mark freezes, because this isn’t part of the drill. “That week, anyhow. The fall festival will be in town. You can come and see.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the words are tumbling out, like a rockslide. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?” Jack presses.

Mark lets out an angry sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s so irritated all of a sudden. Maybe because planning things with Jack is a pattern, and he doesn’t like it when the pattern is deviated from. It frustrates him. Because as long as things follow the pattern, Jack will stay his friend. Nothing will get nasty. Nothing will change. 

“Jesus, Jack, I don’t know,” he sneers. “Something I want to do, probably.”

His friend is deathly calm. Then, “Hey man, I gotta go. Tired and all that.” 

He logs off. 

~~

Mark doesn’t hear from Jack in two months following the incident. 

It’s the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking. 

~~

_Do you want to come and visit?_

**Now’s not a good time.**

_It’s never a good time for you._

~~

“Come on back to LA,” Mark says, tapping away at his keyboard for plane tickets. “Next week sound good?”

“I’m not really feeling it,” Jack says. His blue eyes seem glossier than he remembers. Perhaps it’s the computer light. “Sorry.”

“But you never pass up the chance to come to LA,” Mark rebuttals. This is making him uncomfortable. “Jack?”

Jack clicks his tongue. “I’m crazy busy with work. Felix is also trying to get my help in picking out a ring for his girlfriend--”

“Who’s Felix?” Mark snarls, and god, that’s weird. 

He’s never cared that Jack has other friends. It’s a fact of life. He really doesn’t care. But something ugly and primal surfaces within him, and Jack must notice it too.

“A friend,” he says coolly, like Mark’s outburst doesn’t bother him one bit. “He works with me. We’ve gotten pretty close over the last three years.”

Three years. Three years and Jack’s never mentioned him. “How nice. Anyway--some other time then?”

This is all wrong, so wrong. This isn’t the way things are meant to go. 

“You could always come to Ireland,” is Jack’s airy reply. “Or maybe we could meet in Brighton. You know, a change of scenery for the both of us.”

“Sure,” Mark says, and Jack’s gaze tells him all he needs to know.

He doesn’t mean it, and they both know it. 

~~

Jack returns to LA eventually. It’s later than normal, but he shows up, and the uncomfortableness subsides temporarily.

But Jack is different. Mark knows it from the second he appears at the airport, toting a different bag than he always does. It’s not his normal grey laptop bag--it’s prettier, brighter. Full of green and blue. It looks smaller. 

His smile is different, and he bounds towards Mark with an energy that is unusual. Unlike him. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t part of the order. Jack’s supposed to step out with his grey laptop bag and a soft smile, approach him calmly before pulling him into a quick, two-heartbeat hug. The only time they touch. 

But he envelops him, wrapping him fully and completely, and it lasts for six heartbeats, not two. 

“What are you doing?” Mark blurts out, and Jack gives him an unreadable look.

“Greeting an old friend,” is his reply. Then his soft smile comes back, and at least that’s familiar. “Boy, I never get used to this LA airport.”

That’s part of the script. That’s his normal line. With a shaky voice, Mark murmurs, “It’s not so bad if you live here.”

Jack hums in response, and things seem back on track. 

~~

The entire stay, Mark is on edge.

Jack has changed and it’s unfamiliar, uncertain and he doesn’t like it.

He’s acting different. He’s touching Mark, his fingers grazing along his skin longer than normal. Sometimes he catches Jack staring at his lips like it’s three AM, but it isn’t time for that yet. It’s only nine, after all. 

His friend is so much more...open, then he remembers. He’s louder, for starters. He’s not quite lost his accent, and if anything it’s harder to understand at this rate. And frighteningly, his hair is _green_.

Just the top, but lord, it frightens him. It isn’t the way it should be.

It’s barely eleven o’clock when Jack knocks on his door, not waiting for Mark to answer him as he blurts out, “I’m really sick of pretending like nothing happens between us.”

That’s not right.

“What?” Mark tilts his head. “Dude, what? What are you even talking about?”

“I’ve been in love with you for god knows how fucking long, and I thought you were too, but I’m seriously beginning to doubt that,” Jack crosses his arms. “Are we just never going to talk about it? Is that how this is going to be?” 

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Mark finds himself saying. He really wants to just go back to watching TV. “We’re never supposed to talk about it.” 

“Says who?” Jack counters, and Mark scowls.

There isn’t a good answer for it. It’s just the way it is. He doesn’t know why they don’t talk about it. It’s just how it’s always been. 

“We’re talking about it now,” Jack insists, and he’s never been this aggressive before, never been this forthcoming. “Because apparently you have some repressed issues you really don’t want to get into, and Mark, I think if anyone deserves to know, it’s me.” 

“Can’t we just enjoy your visit?” Mark asks. “Can’t we just go back to playing video games and watching TV and just enjoying each other’s company, like always?” 

“That’s what I mean,” Jack sighs. “We always do the same things. And I love hanging out with you, I really do. But maybe--I don’t know--maybe we should spice it up a bit? We can do the same things at my place.” 

“But we always stay in LA,” Mark says. “It’s just...what we do.”

Jack’s staring at him like he doesn’t recognize him. 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” he asks. “What’s wrong with changing the system?”

“Change is stupid,” Mark says. “Why change it when we’re comfortable with this?” 

“But I’m not comfortable with this,” Jack argues, and that’s not right. None of this is right. Why is he acting like this? “Mark, do you even like me?” 

He offers a noncommittal shrug. “Of course. You’re the love of my life.”

“Then why aren’t you coming over here?” Jack sighs. “Why are you so distant? Why do you always pretend like you don’t remember it when we kiss and fuck the next morning, even when we’re both sober as hell?” 

“Because we don’t talk about it,” he murmurs, defeated. “It’s just how things are.” 

Jack lets out an unbecoming sound, frustrated. “Felix was right about you.”

“Who the hell _is_ Felix?” Mark grits out. He figures if Jack is so determined to wrought change, he might as well ask. “Is he in love with you?” 

“He’s my friend, and for the record, he’s in a happy, stable relationship with his girlfriend,” Jack sneers. “He told me he’s met people like you. So bent on keeping me wrapped around your finger, and that’s why you don’t want to come visit _me_ instead. It’ll ruin your “system” because it’ll cause you to commit.” 

“But why does it have to change?” Mark asks weakly. “This system works. You have a good time here. I have a good time here. We’re both comfortable. We’re both still friends. Nothing gets ruined. Nobody gets hurt. Nothing’s messy. No drama. I hate it too, Jack, but it _works_.” 

“I’m going home,” Jack says, tone final. “Contact me when you come to your fucking senses.” 

He turns and slams Mark’s door. 

~~

True to his word, he leaves. By the time Mark peeks his head out of his room, Jack’s room is completely void of his belongings, almost like he’d never been there to begin with. 

His chest rumbles, full of anger and a lingering sadness. His hands shake with the reality of the situation. Jack left. Jack _never_ leaves. They always have a good time. 

Now he’s gone, and Mark doesn’t know what to do. 

Sighing, he drops his phone in the bedside drawer. 

He won’t be needing it anyway. 

~~

Mark spends six days, eleven hours, and forty-two minutes missing the presence of Jack until Wade finally bangs on his door. 

“Your apartment is a mess and you look like you haven’t come out in weeks,” he says. “Jack’s supposed to be here--where the hell is he?” 

He never keeps it a secret that Jack’s coming over. Mark loves to tell everyone and their mother that his best friend is coming to visit. Though he keeps Jack selfishly to himself when he arrives, he makes sure everyone knows it. 

“Gone,” he murmurs in answer, rubbing at his eyes. Normally the apartment being a mess would drive him insane, but all he can think of is Jack. “He left.” 

“Left?” Wade balks. “He’s out in LA without you?” 

“No, he went back to Ireland,” Mark sighs. “He left.” 

“Short trip,” Wade comments. “Are you okay?” 

Mark shakes his head, tangling his fingers in his dark hair. There isn’t enough of Jack lingering in the apartment for him to feel at ease. “He got upset.” 

“What did you do?” Wade crosses his arms, and damn, Wade knows him better than anyone. But more than that, he knows Jack, and that unless they fought, Jack wouldn’t leave. “Mark. Did you...finally tell him?” 

“Yes,” Mark relents. “But we didn’t fight about that.” 

“Then what _did_ you fight about?” 

Mark buries his head in his hands. It’s hard to explain, but Jack broke the rules. Jack changed things. Jack didn’t pretend. He didn’t learn to pretend as well as Mark. 

“He couldn’t pretend,” Mark whispers. “It’s not...he didn’t say things in the right order. He deviated from the script. We have a script, Wade. Nothing changes if we follow it. He didn’t. Things have changed.” 

Wade’s looking at him in a way he never has, full of curiosity and a fraction of confusion. Coming into his bedroom, he sits at the edge of the bed, not touching, but there. 

“I think there’s more to this than you’re telling me,” he says, and there he is, the one person who knows him better than anyone. His best friend and confidant. “What’s going on with you?” 

Mark’s stomach churns. But he opens his mouth, and speaks. 

~~

**For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with a schedule. A script. The way things are, versus the way things happen. It seems right. It’s always been...my way. Without fail. When it changes, I--I get upset. Because suddenly I don’t have control over it anymore.**

_And why were you trying to control this situation with Jack?_

**Because if I could control it, I’d never fuck up. I’d never upset him. I’d never drive him away.**

_That’s not how it works._

**It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.**

~~

Flying to Ireland is something he never wanted to do. 

Mark’s leg jiggles too much, he bites his lips too much, and he’s pretty sure the lady sitting next to him might very well throttle him at any given moment. 

Three months ago, Jack left his apartment, against all the rules, and in that span of time, he’s been talking to Wade about his script. 

It’s hard explaining what it is to people who don’t have it, who don’t follow it. But Wade quietly convinces him to talk to Molly, his wife, about it, because she’s a professional for this sort of thing. 

She breathes three words to him that never felt like a label for him, but he knows they’re true. They have to be true. That makes sense, above anything. 

Now, being in Ireland, nothing feels right. But this is what he has to do. 

His chest feels like it’s going to burst, perhaps in fear, perhaps in nausea. Mark’s so frightened of this unfamiliar place, where the sun doesn’t shine and where everything seems to foreign, too bizarre. He wants to be away from this place, but he wants to see Jack more. 

Jack’s the love of his life. Maybe, for the sake of preserving that, he has to break the script. 

His body is lead as he climbs off the plane into the airport, a sea of people greeting him.

~~

There’s a soft murmur coming from Jack’s apartment when Mark reaches it--like voices mingling with static of a television screen. His duffel bag, filled with two shirts and an extra pair of jeans, is surprisingly heavy as he raps on the door with his knuckles. 

And there it is--Jack’s voice, loud and boisterous, so unlike their previous time together. Mark swears he’s going to vomit when the door opens, and Jack’s not even looking at him at first, calling over his shoulder, “Gizmo! Off the couch, go on!” 

Then he turns back, and the smile falls. 

Brown meets blue. Mark’s always been enamored with the blues of Jack’s eyes, how expressive they are, how Jack can tell him every infinite detail with just the light hue. 

Neither of them speak. Perhaps there’s nothing to say. Seeing him again, after what feels like forever, stirs something deep in Mark’s chest. A beast is waking, rumbling and groaning, and Mark lets out a shaky sigh. 

“I love you,” he whispers, wiping at his already leaking eyes. “I love you so much, Jack.” 

The declaration hangs between them, pungent and sour, waiting to be taken or rejected. Mark doesn’t know which option scares him more. But neither happens, not really. 

Jack steps forward, and taking Mark’s face into his hands, he presses their lips together in a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Come chat with me over at galaxyghosty.tumblr.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Goodbyes & Hellos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410182) by [starryeyedboxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedboxes/pseuds/starryeyedboxes)




End file.
